Kralie
by thedeadaredeadalike
Summary: Alex Kralie gets his final revenge on his greatest enemies. M for gore, violence, self-harm, death, etc. In-progress.


He had always silently cursed himself for only breaking his leg that day. It was time to finish what had been started.

Alex Kralie sat on the stump of a tree somewhere in Rosswood Park chiseling a large rock into several fine points with the aid of a forehead flashlight, pointing it forwards to cast light in the direction he was looking. He knew he would be here tonight. He could feel him running, blinded, through the forest, with the pathetic disguise on, with the false assumption that he was going to surprise him. But he was ready.

Abruptly, he stood up, holding the rock, and decided to test it on the trunk of a nearby tree. He imagined it was the mask, his adversary's face, and he imagined he was bashing it in. He thought up the sound of bones cracking, of blood curdling screams, while he was puffing and laughing between breaths...

He snapped out of his trance and found that he had made a considerable dent in the material. Realizing that he may have been discovered with the sound he was making and the time that he had lost in his separate state of mind, he spun in a slow circle inspecting the area around him with a handheld flashlight he produced out of his backpack of...instruments.

Suddenly, he heard the rustling of frantic movement and the snapping of twigs and fallen branches behind him. Twisting around sharply, he pointed the device in his hand towards the area of the sound, revealing a man in a beige jacket and a mask, depicting the crude image of a face with black around the eyes and mouth.

This one was relatively more clumsy and not as strong as...the other one. Not as sure-footed, as careful. But he could still hold his own. Alex grimaced as he thought back to his stab wound, courtesy of the masked man standing in front of him. The scar was still there, and he remembered the incident every time he looked at it, his mind filling with thoughts of hatred and revenge. He would get it tonight, or die trying.

A frantic run and then lunge was easily countered by Alex, who pushed forwards and sharply elbowed his attacker in the stomach, causing him to fall to the ground and cry out in agony. Quickly, he grabbed cord from his backpack and forced the wrists of the struggling figure below him together so Alex could tie them and immobilize him.

Once this action was completed, he also tied his ankles so he could not make an attempt of escape, however desperate and futile it may have been at that point. He considered ripping the ridiculous guise off of his captive's face, even if he did know who was behind it, but he found it more satisfying to be killing two people that night, two states of mind and being, and twofolding his final vengeance.

It would also be a greater insult towards the figure that associated with him, the stronger and more silent half of the two. He knew he was watching. He was always watching, the red eyes, almost glowing, seeming to pierce through the darkness and bore into his mind, perhaps even now.

Knowing that he did not have any time to lose, he opened the main compartment to his backpack to reveal several of his aforementioned "instruments". Musing over the items for only a brief moment, he selected a sharpened hatchet.

Walking back over to his victim, Alex closely looked at his wrists and along the arms. There were hundreds of scars.

Tim. Tim, the one whose childhood consisted of running away from his so-called "hallucinations", hiding in dark corners of the hospital he was in, or running to Rosswood Park, until the doctors found him again. Tim, the one who was locked in a room, left to claw at the walls and let out screams of terror and pain at all hours of the night alongside splitting headaches. Tim, the one whose parents were never around, specifically his mother, the only one he could really rely on at that point at all. Tim, the one who was alone during the time of his life when he needed other people the most. Tim, the numb, the forsaken, the broken.

They were old scars, the most recent being sporadic at best. The medicine he took and being able to function at least somewhat normally had helped him get through emotionally and physically up to college, where he met his best friend and next-door neighbor, Brian, who aided him greatly. He had gotten better.

Alex had found Tim's "hallucination" again, somehow, had awoken it, brought it back to Tim and unleashed it upon the crew of the Marble Hornets film project. It had twisted Alex's mind, made him different, had destroyed anything that was the Alex Kralie of before and made a new one in the same mold. And because of Alex and the...persuasion of his controller, most of the crew had gone missing or had gone insane in their own ways.

Alex regarded the scars with grim understanding, although he was not entirely sure why, and his face contorted in an attempt to grab at a memory that his body could remember but his brain had long since voided. He had forgotten so much, and when he could actually get the opportunity to watch Jay's uploads, he would forget the details and only end up focusing on the important details. He quickly brushed it aside and got back to his task at hand.

Crouching over his back, he located his shoulder joint, tore a hole in Tim's shirt, and began cutting a crude line. He did not cut lightly but he did not cut too deep. The writhing mass beneath him began to scream. Alex calmly paused to take out some duct tape to place over his mouth underneath his mask.

Over the next few minutes, Tim's arms had been crudely disarticulated because of the awkward position of his arms and the hatchet not being able to cut through easily. Tim did not attempt to make sound now; he only stared off into space, tears staining his face, which had begun to dry. Whether or not he had bled out already was not clear to Alex, and it did not seem to matter at this point: either way, he was dead.

Finally, turning his useless body over, he picked up his sharpened rock. He brought it down upon Tim's face, smashing the mask into several pieces. He continued, hearing and feeling as his nose caved in, a satisfying cracking sound. Beginning a ferocious frenzy, he violently slammed the rock down again and again at a quick pace, losing himself, letting out a yell of vengeance into the night, becoming unaware even to the sound of bones and skull and flesh being mashed inwards. His victim never protested, never made a sound, never moved.

He stopped. The rock was covered with a mixture of blood and minute amounts of mucus and brain matter. Looking downwards, barely anything was recognizable. Blood smattered the hair on top of the body's head, and the face, if it could even be called that anymore, was completely covered in blood and mismatched flesh. The bones were smashed in many places, worsening the look. His eyes had been driven deep into their sockets, and where they should have been, there was only blood. His two arms had been set aside by Alex after they had been hacked off, and where they should have been on the body, there were only parts of bone jutting out along with still-remaining bits of muscle.

Alex knew what to do now. He would not let the monster take him away just yet. Not now. He had to send a message to someone.

Producing tarp from his backpack, he carefully wrapped up the body, the bits of the mask, and the arms. He tied it up with rope, letting some out at one of the ends so he could drag it through the forest to his car. Once there, he lifted his load into the trunk. He got into the driver's seat, put the key into the ignition, started the vehicle, and drove off. Once on the road, he called Jay.

Several times Alex only heard ringing, until the line finally picked up. A voice spoke on the other side.

"Alex? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? What the hell do you want now?!"

"...Meet me-"

Jay's stern voice broke his sentence. "I'm not falling for your games anymore, Alex."

"Just meet me at that abandoned building, okay? In about an hour or so. There's something I need to show you."

"What abandoned building?"

"The one where...where we saw Tim, and I got stabbed." His voice sounded different, monotone like it usually was, but with an edge to it, and it did not go unnoticed.

"Alex, are you okay? You don't sound normal, well, whatever _normal_ is for you, anyways."

"I'm fine. Just meet me. Bye." He hung up.

He was already on the way to the abandoned building, and driving at a considerable speed. He had bought himself some extra time by telling Jay to meet him there in an hour, but he would probably be there in less.

Once there, he got out of the car, opened the trunk, and dragged the tied up tarp across the walkway and into the building. Continuing on, he got to the back room where he had been ambushed before, and finally laid his burden on the floor.

Running out of the building and towards his car, he quickly started it and drove quite a ways away, but close enough so he could still try to watch and listen. A car finally appeared, which parked. A person, Jay, with a camera in one hand, got out of it.

As Alex opened his car door to get back into the driver's seat, he heard a shattered, unbelieving cry coming from inside the building, and Jay running full blast out of the front door of the building.


End file.
